


Nosy

by CaptainSwank



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, F/M, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Other, POV Second Person, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29095110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSwank/pseuds/CaptainSwank
Summary: Mr. Bouchard might be a little bit of an exhibitionist.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Rosie Zampano/Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	Nosy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leitnerpiper69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leitnerpiper69/gifts).



> Tagged "dubcon" as the consent, while actually explicitly present for once, comes during highly dubious circumstances. Stay safe, please; this is in second person!

It seems an almost comically mundane way to do this— peeking around the doorframe to watch what the two of them are doing together. It would be more appropriate (as if what you’re currently doing could  _ ever  _ be deemed appropriate) to find a way to get behind that huge and horrible painting Mr. Bouchard keeps above his desk, cut out its eyes, and spy that way. Because you now know that there is  _ nothing  _ mundane about your boss, and what he’s doing right now certainly underscores that fact.

Well, more like  _ who  _ he’s doing right now.

Because there’s that pompous, insufferable little Jonathan Sims, but he doesn’t seem so prudish and proper now. He’s been pushed over that incredible rosewood desk (and you know  _ exactly  _ what it costs, after going through your boss’ meticulous accounts), his scrawny legs spread wide.

You feel your knuckles whiten as your fingers tighten on the frame. You need to keep your hands anchored while you watch what Mr. Bouchard is doing with his own. Because as unpleasant as Jon is, those high, breathy little sounds that are being coaxed out of him caress the hot core of you.

You know you shouldn’t be doing this. As shameless as the man has become, now that everyone’s seen his true sick nature; as brazen and open as he is about sticking his fingers in his employees where anyone could hear or even see… well, you’re not obliged to take him up on what really looks like an invitation. And yet here you stand, your pink cheeks pulsing with heat as Jon whimpers and spreads his legs a little wider.

And that’s the other thing: it’s just not safe, because you could be caught at any time. But you’re pretty sure Mr. Bouchard is completely engrossed in his task as he smiles down at Jon, licking his lips unconsciously as the man writhes beneath his touch. And it’s not like  _ Jon _ will see you and give away the game, what with the thick black cloth that’s covering his eyes.

“Elias,  _ please _ ,” Jon whispers, and he reaches for the blindfold. You jump at the crack of Mr. Bouchard’s palm across Jon’s arse, and Jon moves his searching fingers in front of his lips to try and muffle the little cry he makes when it happens. He doesn’t do a very good job. You gasp when you see the shudder that it forces through him.

“No, Jon,” Mr. Bouchard tells him firmly. “You’ve freely admitted that you’re in need of a little more practice with your powers while you’re, ah,  _ distracted _ .” It looks like his fingers find someplace particularly delicious inside of Jon, and this time  _ you’re  _ the one with your hand in front of your mouth. “Perhaps it’d help to think of this little exercise as on-the-job training.” 

Jon groans at that, and while it might have started as a noise of complaint, by the end of it it’s surely a sweet sound of pleasure. It makes your thighs clench. 

“Now,” Mr. Bouchard whispers, in a low and exciting tone you’ve never heard before, and won’t soon forget. “What do you  _ see? _ ” 

“I-I can’t,” Jon starts, and he can’t finish. You watch him push his hips back hungrily, desperate for more of whatever Mr. Bouchard is withholding from him, and he must be very distracted indeed if he’s missing out on an opportunity to show off every little thing he knows.

“Really, Jon, I had  _ much _ higher hopes for you. Surely you can gather your wits enough to do this simple thing for me.” It must be a combination of the words and the push of his fingers that make Jon wail. You rub your stockings together and it feels like their soft susurrations are as loud as Jon’s broken moans. 

“I… I’m  _ sorry _ , please.” You see how Jon’s been reduced to begging by just a few of Mr. Bouchard’s fingers. You wonder if it’s the sensitivity of Jon’s body or your boss’ skillful touch that’s done that to him. 

“Perhaps we’ll try something a touch easier, then,” says Mr. Bouchard, in the tone of one who feels he’s being eminently merciful. “You may come in now, Rosie.”

It’s like the bottom falls out of your world. Your heart feels frozen in your chest, but there’s a pounding, pulsing pull in your wrists that makes you feel like you’re about to melt. Hearing your name slip from his lips while Jon moans out  _ no _ makes you dizzy. Through the fog in your mind you tell yourself that  _ this is the time to leave _ . 

You put your fingers on the door and you push it open. You stand in front of it with your hands crossed in front of you to try and hide the tremble. 

“ _ Elias, don’t _ .” Jon’s quiet words cause a strange reaction in Mr. Bouchard. You’re reminded of the time you snuck in to watch the security tapes of that horrible day when he let everyone know what he really was. His lips part, his eyes close, his brow furrows, and he tilts his head back while he moans, long and low. Hearing it makes you shiver. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I said something  _ easier _ , didn’t I?” He pats Jon’s side gently and with palpable condescension. 

“Please don’t make her…” Jon says, and he turns his head wildly and like a panicked animal, trying to pinpoint your exact location. Exerting very little physical effort, Mr. Bouchard smoothly sits down in his elegant chair, pulling Jon into his lap as he does. 

“Make her?” Mr. Bouchard asks, sounding incredulous. “Please, Jon. What sort of monster do you think I am?” Jon makes a strangled sound at that. “Come take a seat, Rosie. There’s a good girl.” His presumptuous words drip slick down your spine and you wish you were disgusted. You move to sit in the chair in front of his desk. He shakes his head.

“No. Not there.”

You stand in front of that expensive fucking desk and all you can hear is breathing, and the pounding of your own heart. Then Mr. Bouchard pushes his fingers deeper inside Jon, and now that you’re this close you can hear that, too.

“Rosie, you don’t have to—” Jon’s body clenches and his thought is cut short as Mr. Bouchard brings his fingers up to Jon’s soft ear and pinches hard. 

“Let’s be reasonable and think this through, shall we?” Mr. Bouchard says to him. He leans forward to whisper in Jon’s ear, and his cold and piercing eyes never leave your own. “You seem  _ very  _ sure that Rosie doesn’t wish to be a part of this. But really, how can you know until you’ve asked?” That makes Jon sob.

“Oh God,” he says. “No, I won’t…”

“But wouldn’t you feel so much better knowing  _ exactly  _ how badly she wants my cock in her? Won’t it be that much easier when she tells you how she wants your tongue in her cunt?” The catch in Jon’s cry sounds like pain. Despite the blindfold, he slowly raises his head from where it’d been slumped against his chest. It looks like he’s staring right into you.

“ _ Rosie, _ ” he says to you, and for a moment there’s nothing in the room but you and Jon. “ _ Do you want this?”  _ The words cascade out of your mouth as if you’re powerless to stop them:

“I want him to make me moan like you do.” 

It’s not what you were intending to say. In a thousand worlds and a million situations, you could never see yourself saying something so bold and so true. But you’ve said it, the words are out of your mouth, and suddenly Jon’s taut body goes loose and weak in Mr. Bouchard’s lap. Your boss looks at you, then, his eyes hard as slate while a gentle smile plays across his lips. 

“I believe I asked you to sit.”

He doesn’t need to tell you where. You lift yourself up on the side of his desk with shaking arms. You’re very close to the two of them now, so close it’s like you can feel the heat of them soaking into your skin. It’s a perfect seat, a perfect position to watch as Mr. Bouchard carefully instructs Jon to hold his legs open. You get a perfect view of your boss maneuvering Jon so that he can slip his cock into Jon’s eager hole. 

Jon moans through the whole thing, not stopping until Mr. Bouchard is buried as deep as he can go within him. You ache with emptiness as you watch. You hate Jon for a second, hate him for being useless and pathetic and filled. Mr. Bouchard’s grin widens as he grinds his hips against Jon. Jon keeps his hands hooked dutifully around his thighs as he holds himself open for you. He presses back against Mr. Bouchard and he lets his head fall back against his shoulder.

“Yes, that’s right,” Mr. Bouchard whispers to him, as if in comfort. “Let her see…”

This time your fingers are clenched tightly around the side of the desk. Mr. Bouchard hasn’t given you permission to move them yet. He looks at you consideringly and he sinks his teeth into Jon’s neck. Jon’s gasp is sharp and you involuntarily spread your legs. It makes your skirt ride up high.

“It seems I’m rather occupied at the moment,” he says, like he regrets it. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I think our Archivist might be up to the task.” Mr. Bouchard grabs Jon’s hips and manhandles him a little, his cock never slipping out from inside of Jon. They’re both back standing again, Jon’s hands on the desk and his body bent so that his head’s very nearly between your thighs.

Mr. Bouchard keeps one hand on Jon’s hip, and the other comes up to push your skirt up completely. His strong hand slides slowly across your legs, and your body jumps and clenches under his confident touch. His fingers drift feather-light over your cunt and in that moment of distraction he scores his nails over your stockings at the juncture of your thighs.

“Ah, m-my—” you start, but Mr. Bouchard swiftly cuts you off.

“Don’t worry. I’ll buy you new ones,” he tells you.

“B-but… what about the rest of the day?” you reply.

“I suppose you’ll just have to make do,” he says. You imagine yourself walking out of his office on shaking legs. You wonder if anyone noticed what you were wearing when you came in this morning.

His warm hand’s still between your thighs, and he carefully pushes your underwear aside. He chuckles softly as he dips a finger between your lips, exposing how dripping wet you are. You get the moan you asked for.

“She’s all ready for you,” he says, low and dark, as he stands back up and strokes a hand up and down Jon’s back. Before Jon can respond, Mr. Bouchard threads his fingers through Jon’s short hair, and he leads his lips to your cunt. Jon moans into you the moment he tastes you. 

His blind hands fumble to your spread thighs to hold you open, and you can feel his fingers clench weakly at Mr. Bouchard’s every deep, slow thrust. He can’t coordinate himself any better than he could when you first started watching his slow deconstruction at his boss’ hands, but it doesn’t really matter.

You put your fingers in his messy hair now, and you hold on tight as you push your soaking cunt against his lips. He seems to like that rough treatment, because he sobs and shakes. You can hear the wet sounds you make against his skin, and they echo loud and obscene as he licks and sucks at you. 

Even Mr. Bouchard is groaning low in his throat as he watches Jon slip his tongue into you, unseeing behind his blindfold. Your boss is looking marginally disheveled in a way you’ve never seen him, and the way Jon’s stupid mouth is shut while he worships your cunt is incredible. These new sides of the two men push you to the brink, and when Mr. Bouchard whispers  _ let me see you come _ , you can’t deny him the pleasure.

But maybe he wasn’t talking to you alone, because in the haze of the pleasure that seeps through your mind you see that his hand is wrapped around Jon’s cock. He pulls it hard and fast and he pulls Jon upright too and when Jon cries out you feel his hot come splash against your thighs where Mr. Bouchard’s exposed you. He lets go of Jon, then, who crumples against the desk.

You watch like you’re mesmerized as he reaches down to where Jon's face is pressed against the desk where it’s fallen. He runs his finger through the copious slick on Jon’s cheek and his lips, and he brings that finger to his mouth and he sucks. You let out a little  _ oh _ at the look on his face as he licks his finger clean. 

You couldn’t move if you wanted to when he grabs you by your hair and pulls you forward to push his tongue into your mouth. You wonder if you can taste yourself on it when he leans back. 

He pulls out of Jon then, and his ice-chip eyes never leave yours as he sighs and makes a mess of Jon’s back. 

It only takes a moment, but as he leaves you and Jon to gasp and shake in the aftermath, he cleans himself up with his delicate pocket square, tucks himself back away, straightens his suit and pushes his hair back into place. 

He looks at his watch that costs more than the both of you, and he says lightly,

“Ah, I’m expected at a meeting.”

You know that. You’re the one who scheduled it for him.

He looks down at the two of you, and at the scattered papers on his stained and sullied desk. 

“It would seem there’s some tidying to do while I’m away.”


End file.
